Cynical World
by Blue6 - Blood66
Summary: Schwarz goes to Berlin, and Schuldig's memories attacked him painfully, which made his actions entirely unthought of, resulting to betrayal. (pairing:BxS) R&R.


**Note**: written for a fanfiction contest… the song's _Cynical World_ by Yuki Kajiura. I do not own anything less than my plot.

Pairing: Brad x Schu

Cynical World 

Blood dripped down a fine reddish-orange eyebrow, as the blue orbs watched hatefully at the corpses lying on the ground. Everything was still, except his heart, which was beating frantically with the adrenaline rushing on his veins. Hell be with them, and he joined them both with terrible ease.   
  
Death reeks, but it is heaven.   
  
Schuldig exhaled in anger, and hastily, he tucked the gun in its holster, unaware of the danger that might be still lurking around. This was Estet's order, which supposedly filled him with euphoria, but it did not; it instead filled him with guilt, regret, and pain. If ever he had pain, for that matter, yet nevertheless, he felt it. Because of all the places Estet might think of, they sent them to the cruel capital of Germany - Berlin, where all his memories lay; the memories he tried to bury, and was again revived.  
  
Tossing the dagger his enemy tried to kill him with, he stepped on the corpses as a ritual, enjoying the feeling of putting his weight onto the almost frozen bodies. The frown didn't disappear from the German's face, and even his usually glinting eyes were fueled with anger, which shadowed it. The act itself, which usually gave him some amusement, gave him nothing like the previous times - and would not until they got out from Berlin.   
  
Pressing his feet onto the last corpse, Schuldig looked up, feeling a familiar presence, and found Crawford standing there, a mask of coldness fixed on him. Slowly and carelessly, the telepath stepped forward to meet their leader face to face - and to search in those eyes what he supposed he could relate to, and possibly could empathize with him...  
  
Search in his eyes for Crawford's own meaning of pain and suffering.   
  
The night sky rumbled, as if reflecting Schuldig's pent-up feelings; and eventually, the sky poured down rain, first in light drops and then in thundering beats - like bullets penetrating a human skin. Schuldig remained fixed on his feet, gazing at their leader's cold glaring eyes as the rain soaked them both.   
  
+here we stand in ravishing rain+  
+joy is like pain+  
  
Schuldig stared at the mask of coldness and found it devoid of anything related to human emotions - less of stoicity. Feeling that he had acted and thought not like himself, he let a smirk crawl onto his face, finding his subconscious reluctant to do what he intended, nevertheless letting his face muscles do what he was now accustomed to do.  
  
"Bradley." The other man flinched at the word, though kept his silence. Schuldig stepped closer to their leader, although his subconscious didnกฆt want it, weaving his mind into the other's, albeit Crawford's strong mental walls. "Missed me?" Schuldig drew closer, puddles beneath him splashing on his pants. He didn't mind. All he wanted was Crawford's emotions... and nothing more.   
  
Something clenched in the telepath's chest, something that reminded him of his past - when there was nothing to eat, when the streets was his only companion, and when he remained alone in the highly populated city. The pain became inexorable, and he wanted to release it, forget it. Perhaps, Crawford - with his broken soul like the German's, will make him forget, and weave his mind into his, sharing his pain and suffering, revealing his secrets he long hid behind the cold mask...  
  
He wanted Crawford's broken soul more than ever. He had taken the chance in Japan, and here, conceivably, he would get it, for his soul was shattered, and maybe, worthless.   
  
However, he knew Crawford wouldn't submit to his intentions. He never would. With his own principles and rules in his head, and perhaps memory also gave strength to it, he would not submit, less to serve and betray. Pain surged to his chest.  
  
Schuldig didn't utter a wince as his hand was slapped from landing on Crawford's face, and then the coldness of Crawford's mask reached out to the German, chilling him amidst the rain. Words coming from him didnกฆt matter, for the words itself were printed in their leader's mask; the cold, dark words of Estet - assassination, betrayal and distance.   
  
The German's smirk faltered, curving into a frown. And softly, he uttered the words, which he had always wanted to ask the man in front of him. "Why do you shun me, Crawford? Do you have a reason for your coldness? Why do you fucking avoid me?" His voice didn't fail him, and anger was slowly building. The precog stood there unmoving for a moment, the glasses misting and wetting, making his expression unseen.   
  
In a quick motion, Crawford removed his glasses and tucked it in his inner breast pocket. Caramel eyes bore into Schuldig's, still cold and distant. And their leader turned his back onto the telepath, and said in a cold, monotonous voice:  
  
"We're going. The others are waiting."  
  
And he left, leaving him in the rain. Just like that, he ignored and distanced himself from Schuldig. The pressure of the rain on the German was increasing, heightening the pain felt in his chest. It was pain, yes, even though his subconscious told him it was adrenaline, the cause of having too many to kill in one night. The sky rumbled, and instantly, Schuldig decided, still with the pain in his chest, to turn his back on Crawford - for once.  
  
+if you feel you've loved me in vain+  
+why not relive your guilty love affairs+  
  
Turning, he faced the already frozen corpses once again and walked to where - he didn't know. Memory would perhaps lead him, or the souls of these corpses. Either way, it would suffice. The rain broke on his face, building a fa?ade of nothingness.  
  
He had closed himself from the world, drawing his mental shields up, not wanting his teammates to communicate with him anymore. The rain was persistent; still, the sky was pouring rain - crying for him. Then, finally looking up, he found himself in front of a club, his memory telling him it was the place he frequented when he was still a teenager, and when he had nothing to live for but the drugs and the music and the voices in his head. Bitter recollections pushed itself from its tight pin in his head, and instead of releasing it, he just let the place do the job to relive his memories.   
  
+no one but me in this cold place+  
  
Paying the bouncer, he entered, and instantly the blasting music and the indistinguishable smell greeted him. Bodies cramped together and writhing in the center, the bar on the side with the asshole of a bartender, and the corner where they got their supply of drugs; only the type of people had been replaced, but all was basically still the same. Schuldig smirked at this, then listlessly walked to the corner.   
  
A man with ruffled raven hair in tight-fitting leather with two blondes curled on his side grinned up at him, gray eyes glazed from the drugs. "Want to join? As a redhead, you look hot," the man commented, his organ obscenely sticking out from his pants. One of the blondes giggled and pressed herself more firmly onto the man. The other one commented in a giddy voice:  
  
"You bastard, don't you notice it's a man? Don't tell me you're already a homosexual. Just tell me, and I'll gladly leave you."  
  
The man laughed and waved his hands. Schuldig stood on the spot, eyes blank and staring, but inside, he hated to watch the scene. It reminded him too much of his past, and he turned to leave, but the man's remark caught him. "I know he's a man, you airhead. But some kid who used to frequent here resembles him. You there, what's your name?"  
  
The telepath's mouth parted, and he read the man's thoughts, seeing an image of him on sixteen years old in the man's head. Then the memory surfaced - he was Erinn, the drug dealer, the mastermind of the ruckus in the club.   
  
"Erinn," Schuldig mumbled, a smirk appearing on his lips. The man stared up at him questioningly, then his eyes lighted up from the renewed sense of memory. Long, raven locks fell to his face when he grinned lopsidedly, baring his teeth in a sinister look.   
  
"Schuldig," the man named Erinn articulated unbelievably, forgetting the two blondes who began to scowl and pout at the telepath. He fully stood, lean frame and long limbs making him taller than Schuldig. "And I thought you would forever condemn Berlin?"  
  
"That has been my lifetime purpose."  
  
"So why are you here now? Damn, you look like shit," Erinn said, observing Schuldig up and down. All his clothing had been soaked, including his hair, now plastered to his face.   
  
"Because of frustration."  
  
"You never gave up, I remember that."  
  
Schuldig chose to reply in silence, standing with a smirk in his face. It seemed peculiar to have a part of the past that would perhaps lighten him up, but he opposed to it. Berlin was worse than it been before, yet Erinn seemed just like the same: natural, stoned, and fucked up.   
  
"What have you been doing in the past?"  
  
"Is this a fucking reunion?" Schuldig snapped, then smirked again in amusement. "Itกฆs none of your concern."   
  
"You're still the same, Schuldig. You probably might not ask, well... but I changed. I dumped the drug lord business because of the damned Russians who bugged me on a daily basis, and because of another high paying job." His gray eyes shadowed, and he continued, too stoned to notice the other man's reaction and faltering of attention. Schuldig watched the two blondes talk in the corner, curled up in each other, and occasionally indulging in lesbian intimacy, partly hearing Erinn rant about his transformation.  
  
"And that high paying job was very hard to resist. Imagine, one hundred thousand dollars per... well, you won't care the least about it, right? But I remember it was our dream then..." This time, Schuldig turned to Erinn, blue eyes bored and glazed. Scanning Erinn's thoughts and memories, he found the blank in his words and smirked evilly. There were some things that really never changed between them...  
  
"You kill for an organization you don't even know the name of. You are pathetic," Schuldig said, amused to know that his former friend had submitted himself to someone he didn't even know, only caring for the money prized for him.   
  
Erinn's face blanked for a second, then lightened again. Raven locks fell on his eyes, reminding him of Crawford... Oh God, Crawford is such a bastard. Business, and nothing else; he wanted him, but he hated him. "I know, I know... but it is inevitable," Erinn cackled forcefully. "You know how money can be so tempting... It is always tempting. In fact, this night I have been assigned to kill somebody very important in another rival organization. A mind-busting one million dollars for it."  
  
"Why are you saying this to me?" Schuldig asked, becoming bored as hell from the rantings of Erinn. Gray eyes became wide at the question, then narrowed dangerously.   
  
"I've never told anyone this. Just you. Dunno, cuz you're the only one who really knew me from the past." It was not a lie. Schuldig dropped his guard and slumped on the floor from exhaustion. The other man did likewise.   
  
"You should help me, you know," Erinn suggested.  
  
"I could help you put your own dick in your mouth, nothing else."  
  
Erinn chuckled, his laugh like steel hitting another thousand steels. It reminded Schuldig of the sharp voices in his head when he was still little. "Well, anyway, you could just help me if you know the man. The stupid boss said it to me earlier, and it fucking pissed me off because there were no specific orders on where and when... fucking abstract. So if you might know somebody by the name of Bradley Crawford, help me, okay?"  
  
The name shocked something inside Schuldig's chest, and at once, his heart pounded triple time. He said Bradley Crawford... and a direct order of an assassination. He hadn't traced any name of their leader in Erinn's head earlier, but now that he'd said it, it was hurting him partly and confusing him. Perhaps Erinn was in the group that Estet wanted them to terminate. Chaotic thoughts jumbled in the telepath's head, inducing a headache. There were so many reasons he wanted Crawford to be dead, but somehow, in this state, he couldn't help to be a bit protective of their leader. Because of what? Because of his mere presence? Of his broken soul? Of his coldness? Schuldig cradled his head on his hands, the beating of his heart hurting his chest. He doesn't want Crawford to die, because he was the only one who could share with him the same pain and suffering and brokenness he also had. There was nobody else.   
  
+it feels like a miracle+  
+you can't turn back, you're in chains+  
  
"Another dead soul is worthless, isn't it? Hey man, what's wrong?" Erinn whispered, watching the telepath cradling his head on his hands, as if helpless. Slowly, piercing blue eyes appeared from the mass of orange locks, meeting shadowed grays, and before Erinn knew it, the back of his head was bleeding, then his ears, also his eyes. Crying of blood, crying of his life. Schuldig watched in satisfaction and sadistic euphoria the morbid display in front of him. Erinn's head was drenched in dark gore, and the contrast of black on the white skin plus the decoration of bloody mess was breathtakingly beautiful that he smirked naturally, letting a hand caress the cheek of the dead body.  
  
"Fuck you, and go to hell," Schuldig whispered, releasing his hands suddenly that the corpse of Erinn fell with a thud on the floor helplessly. Standing up, and arranging his hair, he walked away, as if nothing happened, ignoring the stares of curiosity of the other people. He didn't care. It was just another body that lost its soul. He was glad that a part of his past had been killed permanently and would never bug his mind again. And he was glad that he had done something right for their leader.   
  
When he stepped outside, rain was still pouring, and without hesitating, Schuldig walked onto it, soaking his body once more. The earlier kill had filled his emptiness in some way, and he felt rejuvenated with the andrenaline rushing to his veins. Looking up, he found men in suits barricading the way. Thrilled with another set to be murdered, he let his mental shields down, accepting the voices which supposed to make chaos in his head, but when he did, there was only a hum of nothingness that filled his mind. Caught off guard, a force hit his side unexpectedly from an unseen fist and he fell on the ground drowning in puddles, clutching his side. Attempting to get up, he only received a painful blast in the head, which made him fully collapse and black out from the world.  
  
  
Swirling clouds in sunset orange and fierce red filled his view, and he longed to touch it, feel it on his palms. A soft, mellow voice snatched him from the scene... A voice from the past...  
  
"Schuldig... Guilty..." a man's voice. He couldnกฆt move his head. Who was it? "You already forgot, didn't you?" a gay chuckle. The clouds were moving. Why were they moving so fast?   
  
"Youกฆre always careless. A broken soul, hmm? Youกฆre so twisted, and I doubt you're sane. Now I know why," soft voice, lullaby... I wanted to drown in the relaxing tone, but I wanted to know. Several birds scattered on the sky. Black birds...  
  
"Why are you called guilty? Have you always dwelled in lies, in pain, and making it seem you're contented? Schuldig..."  
  
กฅWho are you?กฆ he wanted to ask, but his mouth wasn't moving... He couldn't see his hands, or his body. Where was he?  
  
"Is Bradley Crawford your salvation, your life? Have you seen everything you wanted in him? Do you know... Do you really know?"  
  
The black birds flew above me, baring its scavenging claws and fangs. A sound of tearing flesh sounded from behind him. "Schuldig... you sent me in my salvation, should I send you in yours?"   
  
All in all the scene faded in black, and he wanted to scream to come back, but he heard another set of voices. This time they were cold, commanding. Scuffling sounds of shoes on marbled floors were heard, and the random breathing of approximately five people. And this time, he managed to open his eyes.  
  
Blue eyes met a low ceiling in dull white. He wanted to get his hands out, but they were tied, as well as his feet. And he was lying down, useless without his speed and force, but still capable of his power. He surveyed the room with his telepathy, but met all shielded minds. Confusion set in him, and he wanted answers.  
  
"He is already awake," monotonous and cold, also unfamiliar. Schuldig tried to shift his head, and saw a man in a black suit with cold dark eyes. The telepath already knew from their shielded minds and cold presences that they were products of Rosenkreuz, and therefore serving Estet. But why was he here, captured by them?  
  
A new presence came in the room, and it reminded Schuldig of someone. The shielded mind caught his attention. It was too familiar... Was it Crawford? Or Nagi?  
  
"Untie him," another cold voice commanded, and two suit-clad men freed him of the ropes from the waist, the feet, but not the hands. Hastily, they forcefully let the telepath stand, but he still restricted by the men's hands on his shoulders and arms. Now, he could clearly see the whole room. A typical meeting room of Berlin, but low-classed. Was this how they wanted his life to end? In a cheap meeting room?   
  
Schuldig observed the people in front of him. Two men in black suits stood behind him, restricting him, and the other three standing before him in the same color, the tallest one ordering his men. But the last presence was behind the wall. He was so familiar...  
  
Footsteps echoed in the room as the last person walked towards them. A too familiar beige suit emerged from the wall, and at last, the person was revealed, onto Schuldig's shocked mind and eyes. Raven hair, caramel eyes with the wire-rimmed glasses and well-built body...   
  
"Crawford," Schuldig uttered, staring at the emotionless caramel eyes.   
  
+that's fate for a criminal good   
intentions lost in thin air+  
  
"Yes. Do you recall who we were ordered by to kill here?" Crawford interrogated distantly, unbuttoning his jacket.  
  
"Michael Rifkin, Estet. What the fuck are you asking? And why am I here?" Schuldig yelled, furious at the unexplained actions of their leader.  
  
"Who were you talking to a while ago?" the jacket was now opened, and a gun holster appeared, implying something bad would happen. Schuldig gritted his teeth angrily, but nevertheless answered.  
  
"Erinn. Damn it, Crawford, what the fuck -" he yelled in pain as one of the agents twisted his arm from behind. "Answer properly," the agent behind him hissed into his ear.  
  
"Apparently, Erinn is Estet. Michael Rifkin, who is precognitive, saw it all and ordered us to terminate you. You betrayed Estet, Schuldig," Crawford's words were so cold, and even the pronunciation of his name was tainted with frost. With the reply, the telepath gasped, eyes wide in shock. It was so pointless that an Estet agent would terminate another powerful agent in Estet, who was Crawford. Who would order Erinn to kill their leader? Perhaps it would be Rifkin, for he was the one concerned with Erinn, so he saw the vision, or was he already expecting it? Schuldig wanted to shout to Crawford what he knew, but a telekinetic forcefully shut his mouth.  
  
+in the warm breeze you will cry+  
+again and again+  
  
Crawford had pulled out the automatic gun from the holster and loaded it carefully, then pointed it to the confused telepath. Blue eyes locked onto the caramel eyes solidly, and for a moment, Schuldig saw Crawford's eyes blinking several times, and narrowing numerously. And then, he smirked - he knew that action.   
  
The trigger was pulled, and the agent behind him fell with a loud thud on the floor, dead. Crawford did the same to the other agent, and likewise to the other three until they were both the only living in the room. Schuldig tore the rope that bind him from behind and approached Crawford, standing with a smirk in front of him. He never would imagine someone so cold to him to save him in a situation like this. He never thought Crawford did have a soul somewhere...  
  
"Erinn was ordered by Rifkin to murder you, am I right?" Schuldig asked.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then you knew."  
  
"I always know," Crawford answered shortly.  
  
"You fucking bastard," Schuldig's smirk grew wider.   
  
"I know," Crawford smirked, and then turned his back to Schuldig. "We have to go to Rifkin's office, and terminate him, and then make it seem that they were terminated by Estet's enemy. We have no time, let's go."  
  
"Wait," Schuldig stepped closer to Crawford, stepping onto the corpses, his adrenaline rushing to his veins. "Crawford, you have a soul somehow," he breathed onto the American's neck. He placed a kiss on the nape of their leader's neck, surprised that he didn't flinch at the action. Instead, he even invited the affection of the German. With this, Schuldig smirked.   
  
+you were craving for an affection+  
+and a certain invitation+  
  
"Let's go," Crawford said, speeding to the exit of the meeting room. In that instance, there was no reason to stop and disobey their leader. He had shared a part of his soul, a part of his self, and the German loved it and would abuse it. There was no reason not to drive himself to their leader and stay with him in his world...  
  
Schuldig followed Crawford; the distance between them not filled with coldness, but somehow with warmth and a hint of consideration and affection.  
  
  
"Another dead soul is worthless, isn't it?" a soft voice whispered in his head. "Yes." Silence... "You have entered me in my salvation, and freed me from my solitary existence."  
  
The sky turned black, the clouds started to pour down rain.  
  
"And now, have I given you your salvation? Have you tasted the satisfaction of having it? Or are you still craving for more, because you can't see it? Can you truly see him?" the soft voice changed into a familiar tone, one he couldn't forget, from his adolescence and to his return.   
  
"Do you know? Do you really know what your salvation means? Can you call me Erinn and stay with me for the rest of your life? No, right?" the voice slowly faded, but these words were still engraved in Schuldig's memory, the last thoughts of Erinn echoing in his mind. "You gave me my salvation, and I have found it... in death, with your past in Berlin..."  
  
  
+I will love you and serve you, criminal+  
+that's your final consolation+  
+now hang on to me, in the cynical world+

**END**


End file.
